


Don't Stop Me Now

by TigerLilyNoh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, POV Ruby, Protective Ruby, Queen music, Ruby hating postmodernist aesthetics, Ruby to the Rescue, Singing, The most over the top fight scene I've written, Violence, absurdity, minor crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerLilyNoh/pseuds/TigerLilyNoh
Summary: When Sam and Dean are captured on a hunt, it’s up to Ruby to save them… in her own special Ruby sort of way.Potential Trigger Warning:  There is an instance of sexual coercion.





	Don't Stop Me Now

IRuby felt like she’d been hit by a truck and as soon as she opened her eyes she knew why.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she muttered at the sight of a car’s chassis several inches above her face.

After gingerly checking to make sure she still had all her limbs, she pushed herself out from under the SUV.  She could feel some internal damage, probably a ruptured spleen, kidney and some internal bleeding. Half her ribs felt fractured, but it wasn’t structurally meaningful.  Her meatsuit could walk and she had bigger concerns.

Sam and Dean weren’t there.  It wasn’t like Sam to just leave her unconscious under a car—Dean was another matter.  He’d ditch her in a heartbeat, especially if they had to chase down a suspect. She supposed it was possible that Sam had just gone with Dean, after all he knew her well enough that it was clear she’d survive.

Ruby turned around and saw the Impala still where they’d parked it, about ten yards away.  The front passenger side door was open. As she walked up to it she noticed Dean’s ridiculous chromed pistol laying on the ground.  Beside it was a coaster-sized puddle of blood that turned into a trickling path. She followed it to the large, unmistakable tire tracks of a van trying to get the hell out of dodge.  It definitely was looking like someone had taken the brothers.

She climbed into the Impala, hot wired the car, readjusted the bench seat so that she could reach the pedals, then started driving back to their motel room as she tried to recall everything she could about the case.

They’d been investigating the deaths of eight locals.  As far as they could tell the victims had gone missing, then five to seven days later their bodies were found in alleys across the city.  The cause of death wasn’t entirely clear. Each victim had had their heart removed, but three of the bodies showed evidence that it had been extracted postmortem.  And aside from the massive trauma to the chest, there weren’t any significant mauling injuries that would’ve indicated a werewolf. There had been some bruising around the victims’ wrists, waists, chest, thighs, and ankles, hinting at some sort of restraint, but it lacked the distinctive texture of rope or chains.  

The strangest part was that the bodies had been meticulously cleaned, dressed, and positioned when they were dumped.  Each victim had been left well-groomed and in the muted, neutral clothing palette of some fashion designer that none of them had been sophisticated enough to reference as a joke.  The bruises had even been covered with concealer.

Sam’s research had suggested that they might be dealing with a ghost that killed beautiful people, but there wasn’t any obvious connection between the victims, the places where they were last seen, or where the bodies had been found.  There also didn’t appear to be any record of a single killing in that manner than may have given rise to a disgruntled spirit looking to share its pain.

The three of them had just met up to compare notes over dinner, but they hadn’t even gotten out of the parking lot before things had suddenly gone wrong.  The boys had been dragging their heels, discussing their frustration that the victims seemed squeaky clean and had no connection.

Well, Dean had pointed out a possible connection.  The victims were all well above average in the looks department—‘babes’ had been the exact word choice that elicited an eye roll from Sam.  Not to mention the victims were good people who seemed completely undeserving of that sort of bad luck… the same bad luck that had befallen Sam and Dean— Ruby decided that she had her own brand of bad luck.  After all, she was the one who’d been hit by a car and knocked out mid-conversation. And while she was out the guys had been taken, just like the victims… all the gorgeous victims.

She had to admit that Sam and Dean were both fine physical specimens, even if she’d rather eat iron than tell Dean that.  They’d been wearing their boring Fed suits, which weren’t really her thing, but she supposed that somebody had to like them in order for them to keep selling.  But why the fuck would the monster leave her behind? She’d put a lot of time and energy into finding an attractive meatsuit without a soul. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, then checked how much of her cleavage was visible.  A good amount of it. Some bruising from the impact of the SUV was visible just at the edge of her bra’s cups. Taking a more invasive peek down her shirt she could see the extensive discoloration. She absentmindedly readjusted her bra before texting Sam and Dean’s cells, asking for them to call her on the very unlikely chance she’d misinterpreted the situation.  

Patting the dashboard of the Impala, she said, “It’s okay, girl.  We’ll find the boys.”

* * *

Sam was an excellent researcher; he loved getting into a pile of books more than Dean and her.  Yet despite his reputation as the team nerd, there were some areas of knowledge that were found more easily mastered through experience… languages being one of them.  

Once Ruby had gotten back to their motel room, she began flipping through Sam’s notes on the case and slowed down as she read his attempt at a translation of Andalusi Arabic.  He’d done a valiant job considering the language had been dead for three centuries— Well, she wasn’t sure whether a language was technically dead if the active dead spoke it, as she did.  She rolled her eyes at the fact that he’d probably spent hours translating what she could’ve done in a minute because he hadn’t bothered asking if she was familiar with the language. Granted at the time she’d been busy running a few hustles with Dean at a nearby bar for some easy cash.

Looking at Sam’s translation she could see where he’d missed a few nuances.  Rather than a ghost that was attracted to physically beautiful people, they were actually dealing with a flesh and blood monster called an Aashtann.  They were beautiful creatures, who retained their beauty by killing people who were beautiful, both physically and who acted with inner beauty or noble purpose.  She could definitely see Sam fitting the bill, but it was hard to imagine Dean acting nobly… well, she supposed he did sincerely want to save people from monsters, so maybe that was close enough as far as the aashtan was concerned.  With a better idea of what they were looking for, she decided to bypass some of the elbow-grease-based effort that Sam was known for. She didn’t have time to spend all night in the library.

Ruby hurried to the closest street intersection, stood in the middle, then shouted, “Crowley!”

As a demon, she didn’t need to go through all the normal Crossroads formalities.  Any intersect would act as an open mic to the entire Crossroads. The question was whether there was a demon left in Hell that could stand to play nice with her.  Crowley seemed like her best bet. At the very least he’d probably be disappointed if Sam and Dean were no longer alive and available for him to periodically torment for kicks.

“You don’t have to yell,” Crowley commented from where he was sitting on the bus stop bench next to the intersection.  He sipped his perpetually-on-hand glass of 1979 Port Ellen. When Ruby went over and sat down next to him, he added, “you look terrible.”

“I was hit by an SUV,” she explained while taking the glass from his hand and helping herself to his scotch.

“I meant your haircut,” he jabbed.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Sam and Dean are missing, I need you to find them—“

“No.  No deal.”  Crowley shook his head.  “I’m not going to be your deus ex machina.  Do you know how much of my time I would spend if I took requests like that?  Do you have any idea how often Moose or Squirrel are in danger?”

“I’m painfully aware of it,” Ruby groaned.  “Can I at least get some intel from you?”

“It depends on what it is.”  Crowley made a show of checking his wristwatch.  “I have a meeting in an hour. The time between now and then is all the due diligence I’m willing to part with.”

“I want to know about aashtan and I don’t have time to go to the fucking library.”

“And why are you asking me?”

“You sell people their sins wrapped in a bow.  Vanity is on the list and these things live for it.”  She reluctantly handed back the glass as a peace offering now that she was actually asking for help.  “I think one of those things took them.”

“I’m not surprised.”  Crowley hummed in agreement at the thought or maybe just recalling the Winchesters’ blessed genetics.

“I’m looking for any intel that I can use to find them and on how to kill these aashtan things.”

“You know how this works.  I’m bartering for souls, and you my dear, don’t have one.”

“You want Dean’s?”  She smiled despite her concern for the brothers.  “I’ll trade you that.”

“I’ll pay you to keep both of their souls away from me,” Crowley huffed.  “Those two are like a waking blight. You’re lucky you’ve survived this long.”

“I’m tough to kill.”

“I’ve noticed.”  He stared pointedly at her.  “There are several dozen vacancies in Hell’s finest that can corroborate that.  By the way, everyone would appreciate it if you stop killing our people.”

“Can I trade that for the intel?” she asked with a grin of false innocence.

“Like I personally care about a few more dead grunts.”  Crowley looked at her for a moment, then said, “I want your help with a ritual.”

“A ritual?”

“You were a witch, weren’t you?  I need some help cracking an egg.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.  “What kind of egg?”

“The interdimensional gateway kind.”

“On Earth?” she asked warily.

“Heavens no, In Hell,” Crowley assured her.  “We’re just looking to expand our real estate investment into the area next to Purgatory.”

“Deal.”  She quickly pointed to him, adding, “and I’m not on the hook if you unleash any Lovecraftian Old Ones.”

“Deal.”  Crowley offered her a handshake, then told her “one moment,” before teleporting back to Hell to collect her intel.  

She sat there on the bus stop bench and checked her phone for the tenth time to see if Sam had returned her text.  Still nothing.

Crowley reappeared with a full glass of scotch and a worn parchment pamphlet.  “I pinched you the Cliffnotes. But the good news is that your boys probably aren’t dead yet.”

“Well, that’s great,” Ruby said as she started skimming the booklet, squinting to read the fading ink in the dim illumination of the streetlight.  “And Sam’s my boy, Dean’s just the readily available organ donor.” She held the parchment close to her face to take a closer look. “What are these aashtan guys into Feng Shui?”

“Something like that,” Crowley acknowledged.  “Their love of beauty includes more than just their prey.  Aashtan like to stay in buildings that fit a bland, modern, geometric aesthetic, constructed with a south-facing corner that’s less than a 90° angle.  God knows how they survived through the Baroque period.”

“There can’t be more than one of those…” Ruby started saying as she finished searching for the rare architectural characteristic on her phone.  “Fucking pretentious architects. Brent Hilton, award-winning postmodernist architect of the year. He’s known for his acute angles and has fifteen commercial buildings and thirty homes in the metropolitan area.”

“Are you going to go door-to-door spreading the good word?” Crowley asked.

“Do I even have time to check forty-five buildings before they’re dead?”  She scrolled through the architectural journal’s article a bit more, then groaned.  “And half of them aren’t even listed.”

“The aashtan drain the blood of their victims over the course of 24 hours before removing and eating the heart.”  Crowley raised an eyebrow at her. “How long have they been missing?”

“Maybe a half hour”  Ruby did some quick math.  Assuming that blood loss occurs at a constant rate, she only had about eight hours to get them back without risk of serious injury or death from blood loss.  “I need to find this fucking building.”

“The boys are both fairly large.  I don’t suppose it’ll take longer for them to bleed out because of that,” Crowley mused almost academically, though she suspected there was a hint of concern below the surface.

Ruby stood up and tucked the pamphlet on aashtan into her back pocket, then told him, “if you can give me a lead on Brent Hilton I’ll make sure no Old Ones waltz into your neighborhood.  Call my cell. I’ve gotta make a run.”

He didn’t shoot her down, instead tilting his head from side to side in a noncommittal gesture.  “Where are you going?”

“The blood bank.”

* * *

Ruby was cleaning their motel room mini fridge out of its leftover cherry pie and four bottles of beer when her cell rang.  She answered the phone, then positioned it between her shoulder and her head so that she could keep working.

“Has the King of the Crossroads won my fealty?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm in her voice while stuffing eight intravenous bags of O- blood into the fridge.

“What’s the fealty of a peon worth?” Crowley snarked right back.  “It turns out Brent Hilton is on the naughty list. Based on all his minor infractions, it looks like he spends most nights at The Spot, a bar on the edge of downtown.”

“What put him on the naughty list?”

“I’d prefer to not tell you.”

In her surprise she stopped manipulating the bags of blood, cause two of them to slip from her grasp and flop onto the carpet.  “Really?”

“I have a wager with Abyzou about whether you kill him.”

That didn’t bode well.  She grabbed the two bags, stuffed them in and slammed the mini fridge shut, hoping that the seal would hold.  When it didn’t end up regurgitating the blood packets, she stood up and went over to her duffel bag.

“How’d you bet?” she asked as she grabbed her knife and tucked it into the back of her belt.

“Well that would spoil the bet now, wouldn’t it?” Crowley purred.  “Happy hunting.”

* * *

Sure enough, Brent Hilton was sitting at the bar counter at The Spot and he looked like just as much as a preppy douche as she’d imagined.  His blonde hair had way too much gel in it. The salmon polo shirt that he was wearing contrasted horribly with his rosy skin. And he was wearing fucking khaki slacks.  For a brief moment she wondered if fashion sense was sufficient to put some people on the naughty list. But she had to try shaking this guy for intel, so she put on a fake smile.

“Are you him?  Are you Brent Hilton?  The postmodernist architect.”  Ruby just assumed that some award-winning pretentious designer wouldn’t doubt the existence of a fan and would probably happily brag about his accomplishments.  She took the empty bar stool next to him.

“Why yes, yes I am.”  He smiled at her, turning to give her his full attention.  “I take it you’re familiar with my work. Maybe the Arcadia?” he asked, shamelessly name-dropping his award-winning work.

“I think it’s stunning.”  She didn’t have any sincere compliments so she opted for vagueness.  “I read the recent article on you in Modern Design Quarterly. I was so impressed I ended up visiting all of the buildings that were listed and doing a photoset of them for my portfolio.”

“You’re a photographer?”  Brent grinned at her and his eyes scanned her body.  “I would’ve guessed a model.”

Ruby forced herself to smile in a bit of feigned flattery.  “I’m actually just putting together my work portfolio and I thought what better subject than your designs.  The article said that there were twenty three other buildings that you’d designed, but that weren’t listed—”

“Those ones were purchased by various private investors over the years.”  He wave his hand in a gesture of disinterest at the business of his work, then pounding the last of his martini.  “I’m under contract not to disclose their addresses.”

“I wouldn’t bother anyone, I’d just like to see them from the street,” Ruby pressed.

“And your photos would end up in a collection and that wouldn’t look very good would it?”  His voice had turned very condescending. “But if you’d like, I can show you some of my current projects.”

“Are they under construction?” she asked, wondering if the aashtan might be using a new, unsold building.

“Still just blueprints.”  Brent could probably tell that wasn’t the answer she’d been looking for because he placed his hand on hers.  His thumb caressed her wrist in a wholly unwelcome move. “Maybe we could figure something out?” He spread his legs, then raised an eyebrow.

Ruby felt like she could put money down on why he’d made the naughty list and why there was a wager over whether she’d kill him.  She resisted the urge to just slam his head into the bar counter, causing a scene. “I’m seeing someone,” she replied, hoping that he’d just take the fucking hint.

Instead he leaned forward until he was far too close for comfort.  He took her hand and placed it on his crotch, then rubbed her hand against his partially hard dick.  “I won’t tell.”

Her first instinct was to bludgeon the guy to death with his own smug face—she wasn’t sure how that would logistically work, but she had faith in her ingenuity.  Yet though she enjoyed vengeance as much as the next demon, she knew that things could easily get out of hand when mixing torture and business. Anyway, Crowley had waged on her murdering him, and she would’ve loved to make him lose that bet if at all possible.  Even though she wasn’t sure which side the Crossroads demon had taken, his parting statement of ‘happy hunting’ made her suspect that Crowley had put his money on murder.

She glanced at the clock on the wall.  There was still seven hours left to get the information from Brent, then plan and execute a rescue mission.  Sam and Dean were obviously her top priority, but pummeling intel out of a person in a crowded bar was only so effective and she had a potentially-literal axe to grind with this perve.  As long as she didn’t take too much time she could deal with this guy.

“Is there somewhere private we can go?” Ruby asked quietly.

She let him lead her out to the parking lot.  He opened the door to the back seat of a brand new Mercedes-Benz, then climbed in.  She coyly followed him. After getting inside she closed and locked the door behind her.  He unzipped his pants, then pushed them and his boxers down to his mid-thighs. She stared at his dick, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Go on,” he instructed.  

He reached forward, eager to push her head down into his lap, but she leaned back out of his grasp.  Before he could complain, she slid her right hand along his dick until she was at the base of it, then wrapped around to hold his balls too.  Her smile turned menacing as she squeezed. He cried out in pain and tried to sit up, but Ruby grabbed his throat with her left hand and slammed his head into the opposite side door, cracking the window slightly.  He punched at her face, but instead of trying to dodge or block, she took the hit and tightened her inhuman hold on him.

“Every time you hit me it’s just gonna get worse.  So just tell me what I want to know or I will rip your goddamn dick off.”  She dug her nails in, making him to yell. “I’m looking for a building with a south-facing corner that’s less than a 90° angle.  Somewhere that people can be hiding out with prisoners.”

“I… I don’t—”  He gasped when she squeezed a little tighter.  “Not the houses! The positioning isn’t right. One of the office buildings—The ones by Market Street or in the Financial—”

“Hiding prisoners,” she reminded him as she twisted for good measure.  “Someplace with not many people.”

“The corner of Franklin and Grant.”  He was crying, face bright red, snot dribbling from his nose.  “It’s vacant—I consulted on the remodel, but they don’t have a buyer yet.”   

Some people came out of the bar.  She clutched Brent’s throat tighter, partially impeding his cries for help. She began shifting her weight rhythmically, rocking the car, then let out a few fake moans of pleasure.  The group started snickering, then turned to head another direction, giving them some privacy.

“How long ago was the remodel?” she continued.

“Five months,” he choked.  That was consistent with when the eight victims had started disappearing.

“Don’t you ever take advantage of another woman.”  She blinked her eyes black, causing him to yelp, then leaned in close to snarl in his ear.  “Or I’ll be back and you’ll lose more than the dick.”

She let go of his crotch, made a fist, and pretended to punch him in the face, but instead she hit the window behind him, shattering it before she disappeared.  After teleporting back to the motel room, she washed her hands. It took a little extra scrubbing to get the blood out from under her fingernails.

* * *

She teleported over to be a hundred yards down the street from the corner of Franklin and Grant, then walked into a coffee shop with a large window that offered an excellent view of the three-story building’s full length.  After compulsively checking the time —five hours left— she ordered a quadruple shot of espresso and took a seat by the window. She couldn’t help but appreciate the poor taste of her sitting around sipping an espresso while Sam and Dean were likely across the street being slowly drained of their blood.  Of course, she was still doing reconnaissance and formulating a plan. It wasn’t her fault that she needed an excuse to sit and stare at the building for a long while.

She could see people moving around in the upper floor, but they weren’t bothering to turn on the lights—hardly the behavior of lawful occupants.  But that was another problem… there were people, not person. By her rough guess maybe ten of them. It was a fucking nest.

Two people exited the front of the building.  They were dressed in beige and grey ensambles, the man a suit and the woman in a knee-length dress with an awful, blocky three-quarter sleeve blazer.  The woman even wore impractical five-inch clear acrylic heels. Truly Ruby had found her monsters.

She took a moment to run her fingers along her soft, dark purple leather jacket while she considered her enemies.  They looked absurd. Objectively they were absurd. Bloodletting monsters that were so obsessed with appearances and their haute aesthetic that they wore clothing that was just begging for blood stains.  And those fucking shoes, how was anyone supposed to fight in five-inch heels?

Actually, how did they even beat Sam and Dean in a fight?  It was easy to explain how she’d been bested; she’d been hit by a several hundred horsepower, two-ton fist.  Evidently she was expendable, but the boys weren’t. And if they had to have their blood drained as part of a ritual, that meant taking them with minimal injuries.

“One more and you can keep the change if I don’t have to get up,” Ruby told the barista as she waved a twenty dollar bill above her head.  Predictably, the money was collected a few seconds later and her order skipped the line.

She sat there reading the pamphlet on aashtan while periodically eyeing her target.  Crowley had told her about some of their habits, but she needed the sorts of details that counted in a fight.  Namely: How they were able to subdue two trained hunters? And how could she kill them?

The answer to the latter question made her smile subtly.  According to the lore, aashtan needed to have their bodies disfigured, to lose their prized beauty, before losing at least half their blood.  Ruby thought for a few minutes on how she’d like to tackle those steps, then did some quick searching online for local sources of her choice weapons.  She’d have to make a trip to go collect some goodies after her coffee.

The answer to the question of how the aashtan had subdued Sam and Dean was less delightful.  Apparently, the aashtan had the ability to disorient and fatigue their victims. The effectiveness of this ability was directly related to the amount their target fell within the criteria of their prey.  That helped explain why Dean’s gun had been left at the scene, seemingly having been dropped after an attempt at self-defense. Sam was a better fit as a beautiful body and mind, and had probably been easily subdued.  Dean was more debatable in his moral purity, but altruistically trying to protect future victims or his brother could’ve easily checked the box.

Ruby didn’t consider herself anywhere near Sam’s status as a would-be saint but for a few of his small vices—well, mostly just her.  But she considered herself to be somewhere on the same moral plane as Dean. They both engaged in plenty of turpitudinous fun, with one major difference.  She was a fucking demon. No one knew what Dean’s excuse was. So if she was playing with a moral handicap, and trying to save Sam had put Dean into a vulnerable state, then what would happen when she tried to save both of them?  How fucked would she be?

But if the vulnerability came from being tasteful or pure, then she’d have to resist it through raucousness and self-indulgence.  Her rescue mission was about saving Sam and Dean, but it had to be more than that otherwise she could easily become another victim.  She needed to turn away from the elegance and nobility of a surgically precise mission if she wanted to be most effective at fighting the aashtan.  It was time to fight the aashtan on a whole other level, pitting their bland haute aesthetic against her own theatrical debauchery. She stood up, walked over to the counter and stole someone’s to-go order on her way out the door.  It was time to be a little bad. It was time to have a little fun.

* * *

After gathering supplies from the local Asian cultural museum and a nearby U.S. Army armory.  She dropped her equipment off at the motel room for safekeeping before beginning the first phase of her little rescue mission.

The building where Sam and Dean were being held was in the middle of the city and she was planning on a fight that could easily cause a scene.  Personally she didn’t care about witnesses, but Sam and Dean would probably be annoyed by avoidable innocent deaths. Not to mention, if the cops showed up then they might start shooting and risk hurting the brothers.  She needed to create a big distraction in as little time as possible.

Ruby grabbed a can of red spray paint from the trunk of the Impala as well as Dean’s pistol, then teleported downtown.  She waited at the public bus stop, counting the number of bystanders. When the bus pulled up, she stepped onto it and held the pistol up for the five passengers and the driver to see.

“Everyone get off,” she ordered.

The frightened passengers and driver hurried off the bus, running for cover.  With the three pedestrians making a total of eight people potentially calling 911, she guessed that she had about 45 seconds before she had to get moving.  

She closed and locked the bus doors, then took out the can of red spray paint and began writing random words in Luhya just to confuse the situation even anymore.  Tossing the can aside, she put in her earbuds and began playing Queen’s Greatest Hits. She sat down in the driver’s seat, then started the strangest joyride of her life.

It only took three minutes of driving around the streets aimlessly for her to count nine cop cars chasing her.  The late hour left the city streets largely free of traffic, but she occasionally swerved to avoid a car and ended up sideswiping a dozen parked cars, tearing off car doors and setting off alarms.  

“Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time—” she sang as she made a detour to take out a few tabloid newspaper dispensers.  

“—I feel alive and the world I'll turn it inside out”

She plowed through a police barricade as the music swelled.

“—So don't stop me now don't stop me—”

Checking her side mirrors she noticed two more police cruisers join in the pursuit.  That seemed like it was enough.

“—I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva—”

She swerved, cutting across a business plaza, taking out several small trees.

“—I'm gonna go go go—”

The bus bounced as she took a curb at 50 miles an hour.

“—There's no stopping me!”

The bus crashed through the glass floor-to-ceiling windows of the First National Bank building.  She took care to avoid the security desk and even offered the stunned guard a grin as she sped by.  Particle board, stuffing, and navy blue polyester exploded across the bus’s windshield as she took out the lobby’s seating area.  She turned the wheel one last time to flip the bus, sending it sliding on its side to collide with a row of teller stations. Papers and loose dollar bills rained down on the bus, but Ruby had already teleported away.  The police would likely spend a few hours searching for the mysterious woman who had stolen a bus and used it to break into a bank. With the attention focused there, she’d teleported back to collect the Impala and her supplies.  It was showtime.

* * *

Ruby parked the Impala just outside the building’s back exit.  She rechecked to make sure that the beer cooler was doing a good enough job keeping the bags of blood cold.  Opening up the trunk, she took a moment to gather her conviction before holstering her weapons. Checking her reflection in the passenger side window, she fixed the collar of her leather jacket, then teleported inside.

Rather than leaping directly into the fight, she stopped at the security room.  There were a dozen security monitors depicting various rooms throughout the building.  She counted ten aashtan. After consulting a digital blueprint of the building, she determined that Sam and Dean were being held in the north corner of the third floor.  The brothers were both bound to the tops of large, heavy wooden tables with fabric bands. Most of the aashtan seemed to be milling about in an open-concept workspace that took up the majority of that same floor.  With the brothers probably weakened, she’d have to more or less take out all the aashtan in order to protect their retreat, which would likely be slow thanks to the brothers’ blood loss.

As she was turning to leave she noticed the controls for the emergency lighting system and the microphone for the building-wide PA system.  She pulled out her earbuds and shrugged to herself. It only took her a minute to figure out how it worked, then to pick the right song.

Killer Queen started playing throughout the building.  She paused a moment to check the monitors. The aashtan were looking around at each other, urgently talking as they started unpacking sleek, brushed stainless steel knives and swords.  She noticed that Dean had lifted his head at the music, then lowered it back to the table’s surface. His mouth formed the shapes of an unmistakable ‘son of a bitch’ before he started saying something to Sam.  Sam replied, but he was visibly slower and he didn’t bother opening his eyes—he was in worse shape.

She wanted to go up there and save him, but she had to watch herself.  Aashtan had a way of messing with people who had honorable intentions. An affectionate, streamlined rescue mission was just the sort of thing that might screw her up.  She had to try to indulge and treat the battle like a dance literally set to her own tune.

Before going up to meet her very confused audience, she went to a utility closet on the first floor.  After a little searching she located the water pipe for the sprinkler system. She hesitated for a moment before reminding herself that all the furniture and carpets in those sorts of office buildings were flame retardant anyway.  Two good kicks to a joint in the pipe caused it to break, pouring water all over the floor.

Ruby teleported to the third floor, into a waiting area just before the fortified work area.  The flashing red emergency lights pulsed in rhythm to the music. She waited a few beats to sync up her entrance with the song, then kicked open the double doors, breaking half the hinges on one of them.  The aashtan watched as she strolled into the room. She smiled and casually raised her flamethrower as the music announced her presence.

“She’s a Killer Queen.”

* * *

It’d been years since Ruby had used a flamethrower, but this seemed as good an occasion as any.  The flames would disfigure the aashtan, then she could go in with another approach to drain them of their blood.  Besides, flamethrowers were fun and this was a time to treat herself a bit.

When she realized that the aashtan were waiting to see who would make the first move, she decided to oblige them.  Ruby sidestepped a few paces to the left until she was positioned next to a six-foot tall, abstract sculpture made out of smoky glass that made her think of a tornado that had destroyed the Epcot sphere.  She placed her foot against its narrow base. Without taking her eyes off the horrified-looking aashtan, she tipped it over, shattering the artwork.

Enraged, the aashtan charged at her and she aimed her weapon.  A burst of flame lit up a group of three, but she had to stagger backward in order to dodge a sword.  She bounced forward and followed through with a swift kick to a male aashtan’s crotch. Her steel-toed boot connected with what she assumed was the equivalent of his balls, then she shot him in the face at point blank range with the flamethrower.

Having lost track of various foes in the sudden chaos, Ruby spun around in a circle, firing a ring of flame around her at chest height.  Three more aashtan joined the five of their allies that were rolling on the floor trying to extinguish themselves.

A female aashtan lunged at her head with a knife.  Ruby tried to evade, but suffered a cut across the cheek and nose.  Using her offhand, Ruby grabbed the attacker’s knife-wielding arm, then headbutted her.  The aashtan stumbled back, dazed by the brutish move before Ruby let her have it with the flamethrower.

A male aashtan started running for the room where Sam and Dean were being held.  Ruby teleported to intercept him.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she told him, then immediately started feeling dizzy and tired as the room around her blurred.  It was their disorientation effect. Her switch in motivation had made her more vulnerable. Knowing what was happening to her just made her angry.  She embraced that anger and let it propel her back into the fight. Her vision and mind cleared while her blood boiled. “You think you can take advantage of my fucking goodness?!”

He swung a sword at her, but she ducked below the swing.  As his body turned from following through on the swing, she shoved him in the same direction as his momentum, spinning him around.  She kicked him in the back, knocking him to the ground.

“I work hard for this shit!” she yelled at him as she sprayed him with fire.  “I’ve killed armies to get where I am.  So don’t you assholes dare fuck with my goodness!”

From across the room, one of the aashtan fired several shots at her with a pistol.  One connected with her chest near her left shoulder and another hit her right thigh.  After realizing that she hadn’t exploded from the bad luck of having a bullet hit her flamethrower’s gas tank, she glanced over at the wall and door of the room where Sam and Dean were to check for bullet holes.  There weren’t any.  Evidently the angle of attack hadn’t been such to put them in danger.

Ruby glared pointedly at the aashtan who had shot at her and shook her head.  She raised the flamethrower at him while he attempting to reload the unfamiliar weapon, then she started walking with ominous purpose.  When he began backing away while clumsily pushing the magazine into the gun, she opted to half-jogging half-skipping after him in a leisurely chase around the workspace because it seemed to terrify him all the more.

One of the charred aashtan that was still on the ground tried to grab her, but Ruby dodged, kicked it in the face, then gave it another round of fire before resuming her chase.  

The guy with the gun finally took position to fire at her again, so she teleported to be next to him, then grabbed the pistol and yanked it out of his hands.  He elbowed her in the face, but she pistol-whipped him several times before shoving him away from her and lighting him up like the others.  Since she was a demon and the aashtan could only be killed by catastrophic blood loss, the handgun was only effective against Sam and Dean.  She pulled the slide off of the pistol, dismantling it, then threw the pieces to opposite sides of the room.

All of the aashtan appeared to be sufficiently disfigured.  Half of them were still rolling on the floor trying to put out the flames, one had forgotten to stop-drop-and-roll and instead was running around screaming, but a handful of them had somewhat recovered and had their weapons at the ready.  She had to spill a lot of blood and do it before the flaming office furniture really ignited the building itself. She slipped off the flamethrower and tossed it aside, then removed her new weapons from their improvised holsters.

* * *

Ruby took a moment to cherish the truly menacing appearance of the pair of Chinese hook swords that she was holding.  Each sword was just under two feet long with the tip of the slashing weapons shaped into a bladed hook that was large enough to wrap around an enemy’s wrist or ankle.  The handles each had a fingerguard that consisted of another cutting edge, and the butts of the handles were adorned with yet another three-inch long blade. They were literally two pieces of steel containing fourteen razor sharp edges, all backed by the physical strength of a demon.  She was ready to make them bleed.

As a new song came on, she playfully tapped her foot to the music, inviting further enraged attacks with her tasteless behavior.  Sure enough, two female aashtan with knives charged her at the same time. Ruby parried one blade after the other, right sword for right attacker, left sword for left attacker.  After deflecting the attacks, she swung both swords inwards in a scissor-like cut, slashing both women’s torsos. While they were still shaking off the counterattack, Ruby kicked the left one back so that she could focus on one foe at a time.

“It swings—” she sang along to the music while slicing the right one’s throat.

“—It jives—”  She lunged forward, decapitating the one that had been on her left, then kept moving.

A flaming desk chair went hurling right at Ruby’s head.  She managed to dodge it, but was immediately tackled from behind, knocking her to the ground.  The aashtan stabbed her twice in the back before grabbing her hair and bashing her face into the floor.  Ruby held the hook swords up behind her head, then repeated the scissor-slice motion.  A shower of 98.6° liquid showered her followed by a limp body.  

“I kinda like it—” she continued singing loudly while shaking the blood and body off of her.

“—Crazy little thing called love.”

A male aashtan with a sword swung at her, cutting a gash across her chest that gouged the bone.  She blocked another attack with her offhand, then sliced his main hand off at the wrist causing his sword to drop to the ground.  When he tried to pick the sword back up, she maneuvered the hook end of her swords to grab his torso and physically stopped him from getting the weapon.  She wanted to use one of her swords to cut him, but they’d both been imbedded with a bit too much force, so she awkwardly tugged a couple times trying to dislodge one from his ribcage.  On the third attempt, she braced her foot against his chest, then yanked, tearing him in half. Turning to her right, she saw the female aashtan in the five-inch heels moving to attack her, but quickly swept the aashtan’s feet out from under her.  

“They aren’t fucking practical!” Ruby shouted to her for over the music.  “If you’re gonna murder people—“ she sliced through the woman’s throat, causing blood to splatter onto her own stain-resistant black boots.  “—wear smart footwear.”

She’d barely taken a breath when another one jumped her, stabbing her in the chest.  Rather than wasting energy on taking out the knife, she punched the aashtan in the face, embedding the bladed hand guard several inches into his skull just above the nose.  She shook him off her weapon, then took a nice long horizontal slice across the torso for good measure.

“I gotta be cool—” she kept singing just to piss them off.

“—relax—”  A swift upward swing, cleaved a male aashtan in half from crotch to neck.

“—get hip—”

The last three came at her from different directions, so she interlocked the swords’ hook ends, then let go of the left one.  Ducking down a bit to avoid hitting herself, she swung the right sword around her. The two temporarily connected swords acted as a four foot long whip of blade that cut deep wounds in the three aashtan, including slitting a throat.  Quickly grabbing the left sword’s handle, she unhooked her swords.

“This thing called love—”  She cut down one of the injured aashtan. “—I just can't handle it.”

“This thing called love—”  She blocked another attack, then decapitated the last aashtan with her counterattack.  “—I must get round to it.”

She glanced around the room and counted the bodies, then made her way to go collect Sam and Dean.

“Crazy little thing called love.”

* * *

She walked back over to the door to the room where the boys were being held.  Before opening the door, she grabbed a nearby desk that was on fire and threw it to the opposite side of the room in order to give them a bit more time to leave.

Sam and Dean were both bound to their respective tables with what had to be wide, 900 thread-count cotton straps.  They both had an IV in each arm, which was slowly drained their blood into brushed stainless steel basins.  Sam’s basins appeared noticeably fuller, but probably not enough to justify how much weaker he appeared.  It was possible that the disorienting effect of the aashtan had hindered him all the more.  Either that or maybe Dean’s blood just flowed at a trickle with all the alcohol and caffeine that he consumed acting as a diuretic.  

“You couldn’t have played Zepp?” Dean asked as soon as she’d entered the room.

“Next time you cut through a whole nest by yourself, you can pick the fucking music,” Ruby shot back as she hurried over to Sam.  She cut him free with her knife, pulled out the tubes from his arms, then applied two very temporary bandages. When he didn’t react much more than rolling his head to one side, she asked, “Sam, you awake?”

“Pretty sure,” he murmured.

She cut Dean’s bonds and pulled out his IVs.  She bandaged his dominant arm, but left him to take care of the other himself while she turned her attention back to Sam.

“Do you think you can walk?” she asked Dean.

“Stumble maybe,” Dean groaned as he rolled off the table.  It took him a few seconds to get up off the floor, but he seemed in decent enough shape that she wasn’t worried.

“I can get Sam, if you can get the doors and spot me on the stairs.”

Dean walked into the thoroughly destroyed workspace, and began looking around, then asked, “why is the building on fire?”  

“I lit it on fire,” Ruby replied as she hoisted Sam onto her back for a comically ill-proportioned piggyback ride.

“As long as... you meant to,” Sam replied with a pitiful shrug.  She couldn’t reach up to pat him reassuringly, so she settled for leaning her cheek against the side of his head.

Dean returned holding a severed head.  He stared at her with the knowing half-smile of a man who was trying not to display his admiration.  She tried to shrug at him, but couldn’t with Sam piled on her back. Instead she gave a little smirk.

“Somebody’s got anger issues,” Dean commented.

“Yeah, and you’re one of mine.”  Ruby nodded in the general direction of the stairwell entrance.  “Get the fucking door.”

They carefully made their way down the stairs.  Unfortunately, the strain of supporting Sam’s weight made all of Ruby’s stab wound flow liberally with blood.  She wouldn’t normally complain about her ruined clothes, but after having someone be nearly decapitated directly above her… well, she didn’t want to think of the dry cleaning bill.  

Halfway down the stair the music cut out having possibly been a victim of the first floor sprinklers.

“You owe me a new iPod,” Ruby muttered to Dean.

“Eat me.”  Dean let go of his intense grip on the arm rail in order to flip her off properly.

“If you want to get eaten, you can go back to the aashtan—oh wait, you can’t because I killed them all saving your ass.”  Ruby paused at the second floor landing, then shifted in order to get a better grip on Sam.

“I can’t believe you can lift him,” Dean commented, waving his hand toward Ruby carrying someone twice her size and weight.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had him on me.”

“One sec, I need to go back and burn my eyes out,” Dean joked, then pretended to turn back towards the fire.

They made it down the stairs and out the back door without anyone collapsing.  Ruby deposited Sam into the backseat of the Impala, then carefully straddled him.  The holes in his elbows had continued to bleed while he was being evacuated, but at least the bandage had slowed it down a bit.  She redressed his elbows, then folded his arms up to help apply pressure. Once the damage was mitigated she started an IV by his collarbone, connected a bag of blood from the cooler, then held it above him to let gravity do its work.

“You sure you should be driving?” Ruby asked Dean as he squeezed into the driver’s seat.

“I’m fine.  Sam’s the one they really went in on—Jesus Christ, Ruby.  It’s like a ten-year-old was fucking driving,” Dean groaned as he repositioned the bench seat.  

“Just be glad I didn’t weld it in place.”

Ruby tried to clean herself up as much as possible considering the quantity of arrant blood that had followed the three of them into the car.  At a particularly long traffic light, Dean allowed Ruby to put an IV in him. It was a long night and she was kneeling in the backseat holding up bags of blood for her hunter companions.

“Hey Dean, can you drive through someplace?  I’d kill for a burger and fries.”


End file.
